


Trust Fall

by Bun (curseofbunny)



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Transboy Max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curseofbunny/pseuds/Bun
Summary: He wasn't pure. He wasn't fucking clean. He'd let himself forget that, let himself forget that he'd come here damaged and let himself forget that he wasn't worth the effort of keeping safe.Fuck, he was so stupid.





	Trust Fall

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is gonna contain: mentions of past rape, mentions of current rape, and a rape scene during present events. i don't really ship this but also this is a vent fic and i'm having a really bad time lately so i'm writing something to make myself feel better, and so that i do all of my self destructive bullshit online with fictional characters instead of anything irl. maybe it's just me, but i'd rather write something terrible than do ANYTHING irl.
> 
> anyways, you've been warned. if ur an anti just take the initiative and leave rn, i'm not in the mood. what's gonna happen in this fic is gross and i don't condone it.

When Max came to summer camp, he hadn't been a virgin.

It shouldn't bother him this much, but now, tears running down his face as he hides in the shower, the rain outside pouring like the water inside, he can't stop thinking about it.

He wasn't pure. He wasn't fucking clean. He'd let himself forget that, let himself forget that he'd come here damaged and let himself forget that he wasn't worth the effort of keeping safe.

God, he couldn't believe this had happened.

He'd been coming to camp since he was seven, never once with an activity written down, only happy here his first year. Now he was sixteen, probably too old to be here, a counselor in training, still angry but keeping everyone else in line.

Fuck, he was so stupid.

Everything hurts.

He probably should have expected that. It wasn't like this was even the first time it'd happened to him, wasn't like he hadn't been through this song and dance before. He'd been through the motions, the crying in the bathroom stall, scrubbing at his skin until it went raw, sobbing until he couldn't anymore and feeling angry and hurt and helpless and murderous and defeated and embarrassed and-

He really wishes that he didn't have to go through this again.

Hell, no matter how shitty Camp Campbell had been, he'd always thought it was, to some degree, safe here.

But he wasn't making any sense at all, was he?

Max stands on wobbling knees, the quickly chilling water beating down on sore, bruised skin, and takes a deep breath.

He'd pretend he was fine if it fucking killed him.

Last summer he'd been a regular camper for the last time, and the counselors came together with him and Nikki, the only campers other than Dolph (now going by Rudy) who were planning on returning the next year. Well, Nikki was planning on it, Max just didn't have any other options. David and Gwen decided to finally split the counselors between two cabins, the second of which was a previously unoccupied and spider-ran place, and bring the two in with them as counselors-in-training, or CITs. Nikki was ecstatic to room with Gwen, and Max would admit he'd cracked a smile at the thought of staying with David, and not even in a devious way or anything like that.

They spent the last few weeks of camp clearing out the cabin and learning what spiders were poisonous and which weren't and exactly how a rat nest reacted to two teens stumbling on it, and when they left they were covered in bruises and scrapes but feeling good.

Max was dropped off first, just like every year before, and got a chance to set up his half. David moved into the second cabin, smaller than the first, a one room affair with a tiny bathroom, a kitchen against the back wall, enough space on either side of the door to set up a living space. He'd strung up some curtains around each of their beds- for "warmth" and "privacy" he claimed, but really Max just thought he wanted the beds to look fancy. More than that, they each had a desk and a small bedside table, a trunk at the foot of their beds. It was cozy and the space was gonna be his, and Max had been honestly excited.

He'd even been excited enough to put on the stupid counselor's shirt.

That shirt was balled up on the floor by his bed, the curtains still in place, the bedsheets rumpled and stained.

There were fingerprints wrapping around his wrists, his hip, his thighs, his neck. He'd have to wear a scarf the next day, might have to skip out on camp duties and even knit himself one.

He glanced past the shower curtain, to the wood door. It was painted, one of the last projects last year, led by Rudy, Dolph, whatever. A map of the camp, with little shitty cartoonish versions of all the campers that'd been there that year. Up at the top, there was David, there was Gwen, there was Rudy and Nikki and Neil and himself.

Max turned off the water, scrabbling his fingers over where the soap was, and chucks it as hard as he can at the door.

The corner smashes in and sends chunks of soap, wet and slippery and gross, splattering over the mural.

Atleast Max's aim had gotten better.

The soap sticks in place for a minute over the cartoon David's face, then slides down, then goes clattering to the floor.

There was a chunk the size of a quarter stuck to the cartoon's chin, another few splattered over the red of the cartoon's hair, and more over the cartoon Max beside it.

He wants to throw up.

There's nothing left in his stomach.

The door hadn't come with a lock, and he should have dragged a chair in with him to make a blockade, but the knob wiggles and opens, a frowning face standing there.

Max wants to cover up, but instead he sucks in a breath, balls up his fists, stares at the man.

"What do you fucking want?"

"Max, you shouldn't be throwing things."

God, how had he once found the charismatic lilt of that tone comforting?

David bends down and picks up the soap, steps inside and looks at the damage done to their image. The frown is permanent, and there's a dark mark on his cheek where Max had slapped him, a scrape on his lip where Max had bitten.

He stepped forward.

Max flinched.

"Oh calm _down_." David snaps, and it's the first time in a long time that Max had seen him act like that.

Not since he was ten, not since the first time he heard the man curse.

His eyes burn, but fresh tears still gather.

David was in pajama pants, a white undershirt. The hem on the pants was still a bit messed up, the shirt not quite in place, ginger curls poking out from the top of the pants and a few flecks of white smeared at the top.

The white, the red, it was the shade of betrayal.

Max doesn't move as the man lifts his palms to cup Max's cheeks, and even with how much Max had grown over the past few years, he's still so much smaller than David. So much shorter.

David doesn't seem to care that he's wet.

David kisses his forehead.

Max lets out a shaky sob.

He's naked still, his hair stuck to his head in a total mass, and it'd take absolutely forever to dry but he didn't want to do anything other than curl up in bed and die.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." The man whispers.

Max doesn't say anything back.

David pets his cheeks, runs his fingers through Max's hair, smearing the water over the quickly-chilling skin, making the boy shiver, making his heart beat quicker, making the tears well up faster.

"Do you forgive me?"

Max chokes and his knees give out.

David catches him, pulls him into his chest, and all Max wants to do is fall into a hole and die.

It'd be one thing if this was the first time it'd happened.

It'd be one thing if this was the first time he'd been used, been hurt, been fucked hard, pressed down and choked and bitten and told how pretty he was, how warm he was, how inviting and how perfect and how irresistible.

David wasn't even drunk, like the first guy had been.

The spot between Max's legs ache, and part of him wonders if this is the only thing that'll ever happen to him.

He hates that he still takes comfort in being held to the man's chest, that even as he's shivering and sobbing he's leaning closer.

Max doesn't attend activities the next day.

How could he?

He hides in the cabin with his heart in his throat, too stressed and sore to do anything. He tries to pick up his knitting needles before he remembers who exactly had taught him the skill, then throws them to the side and chokes back a sob.

David had replaced the sheets last night while he was in the shower, so there's not even the dignity of remembering the way he'd been pushed down, the way his thighs had been forced apart, the way he'd been held down and the way that, when the man came, he twitched and stilled and pulled out, smearing fluids over Max's thighs and the bedsheets, evidence of what had happened.

Max spends the day tangling himself in the sheets, switching between crying, staring silently at the curtains, and sleeping fitfully. Every time he closes his eyes he sees flashes of what'd happened and it blurs together with the first time, three years ago, and he still feels as helpless and hurt as he did then.

At some point the door to the cabin opens, and all Max can do is curl in on himself tighter, tug the sheets around himself, his fingers shaking.

There's a weight, a creak as his bed dips under a new weight.

He hadn't expected David to fuck with him again this quickly.

"What do you want?" He whispers, and his throat is hoarse from crying.

"David said you weren't feeling too good, babe."

Oh.

He turns a bit, his eyes falling to his best friend, the tangle of teal hair pulled back into a thick braid, the soft smile on her face.

When had she learned how to be soft?

"I'm..." His voice can't go back to normal, hurts too much.

She brushes the back of her fingers over his forehead.

He sucks in a breath.

"What's wrong? Shark week got ya?"

He can't help but snort, shoulders shaking weakly.

She moved to card her fingers through his hair.

He freezes.

_David._

His breathing picks up.

Before he's processed it, he's shoved Nikki back, leaving himself half curled in on himself on the bed, the blanket pooled around his thighs, his chest heaving.

"Max?" She asks from her position where she'd landed, wincing. "What the hell was that for? God, I just touched your hair."

Max pulled back, pulling the blanket closer to himself, tears welling up.

"I... I don't want to see you. Please get out." He swallows thickly.

"Are you shitting me? What the fuck?" She stood up, and god, she was taller than him, bigger than him.

Max shook his head. "Go away! Fuck off! Happy?"

If he'd looked up, he'd have seen the distressed frown.

Instead he just listens to her stomp off and slam the door shut.

The next time the door opens, it rouses him from a fitful nightmare of someone pouring whiskey down his throat while they fuck him slow, their cock too big for him, a huge hand splayed over his chest.

"Max~?"

He hides under the covers.

The curtain opens.

"Max, you stayed in bed all day, you total lump!"

Tears burn in his eyes, already puffy and sore from crying all day.

"Fuck off."

"Now that's no way to speak to your counselor, how do you think the children will feel when you're their counselor? You won't be able to act like this, now will you?"

Was he seriously turning this into some stupid lesson?

Max opens his eyes to latch onto the man, taking in everything he'd once seen as harmless and safe.

The muscles, which he'd once joked were built for hugging.

The tuft of hair, the gentle red.

The small, red nose.

The wide eyes.

Max feels something rise in his throat, tries to sit up and push past the man.

Instead, David responds with a palm to his shoulder, easily shoving him down onto the bed.

Max hadn't eaten anything all day, hardly able to stomach water, so he's weak. That's what he tells himself, anyway.

He doesn't fight back this time.

David unbuckles his belt and pulls it out sharply, rearranging Max's thighs as he wants them and slipping his palms up the still-soft skin on his stomach.

Max swallows something incomprehensible and buries his face in his shoulder.

"You know, Max," the man clucks his tongue. "I always thought you were beautiful. I mean, I used to think you were beautiful in the normal way, but..." He trails his nails down the skin, leaving a tingling trail.

"Living with you, teaching with you, I feel it."

There's a smile on his lips, a feverish look in his eyes. The man looks like he's telling a well hidden secret.

"And you like me too, don't you? You always had a crush on me, that's why you played rough. Pulling pigtails, right?"

The fingers hook on the hem of Max's sweatpants and start to tug, pulling them down and off.

Even if Max had a crush, he's sure it's dead now. He's sure he'd rather die than ever admit to having one in the first place.

"I hate you." Max whispers and lifts his hands, pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes, hiding and pressing and swallowing a sob.

There's a cluck of a tongue, a zipper being unzipped.

"No you don't, Max." David replies.

Who was he to tell Max how he was feeling?

This time two fingers stroke down his slit before they push inside, and Max curses himself for not having the energy to put on underwear, curses himself for being so stupid to think he could just sleep all this shit away.

David presses his fingers in farther, moves them the right way, makes the teen shake.

Back in Max's first year at camp, he'd realized that he wasn't a girl. Realized a lot of things, realized that he was a boy who liked boys and realized that he was still Max but he wasn't like, a girl Max, and realized that he'd loved the Counselor he'd latched onto.

Chapped lips slide against his own and a third finger moves inside of him, Max's hips jerking up and a moan unwillingly escaping him.

It's hard not to react. It's hard for his brain not to assume that he did actually want this, that he's just stupid and overreacting.

After all, David always wanted the best for him, right?

A thumb swipes over his clitoris and Max shakes.

He feels exhausted already.

"I don't want it." Max lifts a shaking hand, still open, still on display, still being touched.

David doesn't answer.

"I- David. Shit stain." He hardly gets the insult out. "S-stop. I don't want it right now."

Another unintentional whine, and David grins at him.

"Of course you want it right now. You've always been impatient."

He taps Max's nose.

If they weren't in this situation, it'd almost be cute.

David keeps fingering him until his hips are rocking into it, his body wet and ready even though he didn't want it.

And that was the thing, wasn't it? He tried to keep telling himself that he didn't want this, but there was still a familiar fluttering in his stomach, his heart still beating faster when the man kissed his jaw, a need for release clouding his mind and trying to convince him that this was okay.

Besides, it's not the first time this had happened.

When David's cock makes a reappearance, Max glances down at it. He hadn't seen it last night, and he wishes he still hadn't. There's the familiar red curls nested around the bottom, a dark vein on the underside. It's tinted red, flushed with blood and hard. David's cock was thick, about a normal length, and generally upsetting to look at.

The man took it in his hand and rubbed the head against Max's slit.

His back jerked and he moaned in surprise, clapping his hand over his mouth as fresh tears bubble up. This was his luck, right?

David leans over him, big and heavy and blocking him in, kissing his neck over where the bruises from the night before still were. And he's gentle this time, kissing without any teeth, dragging his lips over the heated skin and making Max shift anxiously.

The man doesn't bother with a condom. Part of Max realizes that he probably doesn't get laid often enough to even have them.

David pushes himself inside.

Max isn't struggling this time, is actually aroused, but it still hurts. He hadn't finished growing yet, and the cock was thick. It felt like it was filling him, leaving no room for anything else, pushing all thoughts from his mind.

He sucked in a shaky breath.

David kissed him.

When the man's hips start moving it's even worse. Max gets pulled toward him when he pulls out and is pressed harshly into the bed when David pushes back in. A tongue slips into his mouth and he feels like he's just a toy to be fucked.

He focuses on that, trying to disconnect from the situation, the reality that he'd trusted the man above him, that he'd willingly slept in the same room as him and all he'd gotten in return was bruises and a sore body filled with cum.

He was just something to be fucked.

That was all anyone ever saw in him.

The pretty boys who wanted to curl their fingers in his hair and fuck his mouth, the gorgeous girls who wanted to kiss him and eat him out and turn him into a shaking mess. Usually he agreed, he wanted it too, because the alternative was him being left alone or, worse, them just taking what they wanted from him.

When he was younger David probably hadn't seen that in him. He probably wasn't actually a pedophile, probably hadn't wanted to fuck Max when he was younger, smaller, more vulnerable. Even now Max didn't think David wanted to hurt him.

The kiss deepens, the thrusts rock harder.

He's sore. The small of his back is screaming in protest, his thighs pushed further apart than they want to be. But he's still being fucked, still full and delirious and leaning into the hands skimming over his skin.

Would it be so bad to just let David keep doing this to him? He tentatively swipes his tongue over the bottom of David's lip, becomes active in the kiss. Max didn't have much going for him at home, two parents who didn't give a fuck and an uncle who liked to hurt him. Atleast if he pretends he wants this, David won't shove him around or hurt him, right?

Tears betray him, sliding down his cheeks. His heart races.

David is still fucking him, a fluttering sensation racing up Max's stomach. He probably wouldn't get off just from being fucked- god, if he did, wouldn't that be proof that he was a huge slut?

But David brushes his thumb over Max's clit again and the teen shakes.

"Do you like that? Does it feel good?" David whispers.

Max turned his face into his shoulder to hide the moan, to try and save his dignity.

But there's kisses up his collarbone, his throat, his jaw and cheek and the bridge of his nose, and a blush gathers in his cheeks.

The man was cute even as he was raping him-

Was it still rape if Max wasn't fighting back?

Max didn't want to think about this anymore.

He didn't want to think about anything.

He grabs David's hand and pulls it to his own neck, fitting it over the bruises from the night before. His heart speeds up and David understands, squeezes tentatively as he shifts the pace a bit to something more irregular, proving where his focus was.

When David applies pressure, he reaches that blankness.

He can't think, can't focus, just gasping for air and feeling, the pounding becoming the only thing in his world.

And wasn't that what he'd wanted, anyways?

He didn't want to think.

He gave in, let himself enjoy it, let David fuck him and rub his clit, let the man pump more cum into him and let him kiss Max until the teen saw stars.

Every part of him throbbed.

David pulled out and rearranged Max so that they were both on their sides, laid behind him and pulled him close, pulled the covers over them both.

A cold chin slotted itself into the space between his shoulder and neck.

Max let it happen.

This was just what was going to happen, after all. This was all he meant to people, the only thing anyone saw in him.

It wasn't like this was the first time it'd happened to him.


End file.
